


Spider Silk

by Ludovica



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Bondage, F/F, NO rape, Porn Battle, noncon situation, warning: read with caution if arachnophobic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludovica/pseuds/Ludovica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A darkness has come to Beleriand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spider Silk

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle prompt:
> 
> Melian/Ungoliant, anthropomorphic, raiment, before, rejection, defense, spider silk

A darkness had come to Beleriand, a new kind, different from Melkor whose screams they had heard all throughout the world just months earlier. It was a darkness that had never yet sat foot to this part of the world, a creeping and cowering but all-consuming darkness that had settled north of her girdle, of all places.

The flame of war, smoldering in the north, was about to be kindled anew. There was no denying that, not even for her beloved husband – the greatest enemy of the Valar, the greatest enemy of the Elves, had come back to Middle Earth, and in his wake had come those that had once left these shores, Elves who had grown strong and proud in the light of the trees, a light she had lost, in a realm that was now hidden from her sight, for reasons unbeknownst to her.

Yes, there would be war, and the fighting would be long and brutal, and many Eldar would return to Valinor bereft of their body, and Mandos’ halls would fill. But this war was not the reason why she was roaming through the tunnels of Menegroth tonight, her thoughts perturbed not by the great enemy on his throne in the north, but by the creature he had taken with him from Aman. Melkor was dangerous; Melkor would wreck the earth; she knew all that. But the being he had taken with him… Even Melkor had to have every reason to be afraid of her.

Ungoliant was not supposed to be here. Nobody, not even Melian, could imagine what she would do, what havoc she would wreck – or if she even intended to do anything but feed and lie in waiting as she had done in Aman. The thought was strange, and it felt wrong to her as well, since she was a Queen of the Eldar now, and the most dangerous enemy of the Eldar was Melkor – but the mere presence of her, of her all-encompassing darkness, of her unreadable will, her unknowable intentions, her insatiable hunger, jolted the part of her which had not merged with her physical body, which had not given birth to an Elf, which had never stopped being firmly and foremost a part of Eru’s will. Ungoliant was outside of the world Melian could understand; she was no Ainu, she was no Child, she was just there, dark and lurking and dangerous in a way not even Melkor could ever hope to be, as volatile as a thunderstorm and as unfathomable as the vastness of the Timeless Halls beyond Ea.

The room she entered was empty as always. None but herself and a few of her handmaidens were allowed into the chamber at the heart of Menegroth, at the heart of her girdle. She sat down on the chair in the middle of it, made of the roots of a mighty, ancient tree that grew right above it and broke through the stone walls of the chamber into Menegroth. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers run over the ancient bark. Ancient power pulsed through the wood, and she let go of her fána, her immortal body, as much as she still could, to extend her spirit into every corner of the forest, into every part of it encompassed by her girdle.

The darkness in the north of her borders ran like a cold shudder down her spine. She was there; she had settled. Melian dove deeper into the net of magic she had spun throughout the forest and started to reinforce the girdle in the north, slowly adding magic to the intricate fabrication of her power. She became one with the tree that served her spirit as a lookout, and more and more of her branches reached north. She forgot herself, forgot the chamber, forgot Menegroth…

Until she suddenly opened her eyes.

But she wasn’t in the chamber anymore. No, and she was also not sitting on the chair of tree roots. She was standing, in fact, in a cave with black walls, painted blue by the light of strange stars shining in from a hole in the roof.

She frowned and looked around – but in the corners of the wall was nothing but darkness, a darkness as thick and heavy as resin.

Suddenly there was something at her right wrist, and in the very next second, before she had any chance to react, she was yanked around by something pulling at her arm. It felt as if a rope had been bound around her wrists – a rope that now pulled her arm up until it was stretched up towards the ceiling.

She tried to do something, anything, but her senses were strangely dull – there was a lightness in her head that she had never experienced before, and a sudden dizziness overcame her when she tried to reach for the bounds of her right hand, and before she could touch grasp her wrist, another rope grasped her left arm, winding around it like a snake before it contracted and bound her left arm in the same position as her right, stretched high above her head.

Then the darkness started moving.

Panic of a kind Melian had not known for many ages started to well up in her chest, but her frantic attempts to free her arms from their bounds – which were surprisingly smooth, nearly soft on her skin despite her relentless pulling – proved to be absolutely futile.

The darkness moved towards her, and as it came closer and closer, it started to change, to materialize, and from the shadow grew limbs, formed like those of the Children, but pitch black and long, two legs at first, then arms. A shiver ran down Melian’s spine and settled as nauseating fear in her stomach as more and more arms started to sprout from the darkness, three, four, five – six. Six pitch black arms, made of nothing but darkness, attached to a naked, female torso that was just as dark and thicker than those of Elves, yet not as broad as those of Dwarven women. Melian’s body cramped as she tried to rip her arms from their bounds, but those bounds had started to slither over her skin while she had been distracted by the darkness congealing into flesh, and now they covered her from her wrists to her shoulders, slowly creeping over her chest and constricting her breathing.

Finally, a head emerged to complete the body in front of her. The woman made of darkness was bald. Where a Child’s eyes were wont to be, there was a pair of large, black orbs that reflected the light of the blue stars; and below and slightly farther outwards was another pair, and again below another, and another, becoming smaller and smaller with every tier, so that the smallest pair, set just below her cheekbones, looked like tiny, pitch black marbles.

“Look at that little fly trapped in my net…”

The voice was hollow, bristle, a hiss that seemed to come from the walls around her more than it came from the creature before her, though her near lipless mouth had twisted into something which could have been a smile as much as a snarl. Melian wanted to say something, anything, to fill this room of dread with her own voice, with her own power, but the bonds – silk, she realized now, smooth, sticky spider silk – had wrapped around her throat and contracted as she tried to form words, choking her until she stopped her attempt. As soon as the pressure around her throat stopped, she started taking hasty, deep breaths, her eyes wide as she watched the creature before her, watched how she lifted one of her unnaturally manifold hands to her face – her breath hitched when fingers with tiny spikes touched her cheek, not hurting her skin, but sending dreadful sparks through her body, like a promise of what those fingers would be able to do to her if she let them.

“This is no place for your pretty voice, Melian,” the creature before her – Ungoliant, Melian was now sure of that – hissed, though there was an oddly soft quality to her voice, cruelly gentle. Her fingers traveled down over her jaw to her throat, and a sudden, burning pain told Melian that she had buried her claws in the sensitive skin over her larynx.

The look in Ungoliant’s plethora of eyes changed – no matter how hard it ought have been to read expressions in those black orbs that only seemed to play at being eyes, Melian felt as if she was looking at her with hunger, with a greed that made every cell of her body reverberate in fear. She did not understand why she was here, she did not understand how Ungoliant had taken a form like this – she did not understand where here power had gone, why her girdle hadn’t kept Ungoliant at bay. She tried to find the power to leave her fána deep inside her, but she was as hollow as the room she was in, and with horror as sharp as her husband’s sword she realized that she had been reduced to nothing but her consciousness, trapped in the raiment she had woven for herself, but bereft of any sort of power over this raiment. What had Ungoliant done to her? Why couldn’t she break free of her bonds?

Another grin revealed rows of curved fangs glittering white in the darkness of her face – as if she had tried to imitate the teeth of predators.

“I always wanted to know if the fake bodies you so proudly adorn yourself with are capable of bleeding,” she whispered hoarsely as she leaned in, taking a deep breath with her face just half an inch away from Melian’s skin. “Sadly last time I did not get the chance to see one of your kind bleeding… Nor to do this…” Something cold, rough ran over her skin, and with a shudder Melian realized that it was her tongue, lapping up her blood with low, pleased sighs. Hands started to touch her, holding the nape of her neck, digging into her hips, clawing at her chest.

Melian wanted to hiss back at her, to ask her what this form she was wearing was if not a ‘fake’ body she had adorned herself with just as the Ainur did, but the threads of silk tightened as soon as she opened her lips. So she pressed her teeth together instead, in something that felt nearly like a snarl, though Ungoliant would not be able to see it. She was still licking over her throat, slowly, leisurely, until Melian suddenly felt sharp pain break through her skin, and with a gasp she felt Ungoliant’s teeth bury into her flesh. Her whole body tensed, her stomach cramped with nausea, her throat constricted with mortal fear, a pitiable whimper left her lips – and Ungoliant let go of her, took one step back, and grinned at her face with bright blood smeared around her maw.

“You taste delicious”, she rasped, licking her lips slowly while three of her hands still ran over Melian’s sides, pushing their claws into her flesh once every few inches. Her hands were cold on her body, a coldness that permeated her clothes and skin and flesh and burned into her bones. Ungoliant stared at her from her eight black eyes, watched her body twitch and jerk with every push of her claws. She started to use them more purposefully after a while, finding the places that hurt most – under her rips, at the side of her groin, under her arms – and buried her fingers in the flesh of those spots, ripping her dress to shreds, watching with dark delight while Melian writhed beneath her hands.

She could still feel blood trickle over her neck, and the relentlessness of Ungoliant’s touches slowly made her whole body hurt. She didn’t understand any of that – the wound on her neck should be healing already, her touches shouldn’t hurt her at all, not with the strength and endurance she had invested her fána with. Something here was not right. She could taste it, smell it – something was not – 

“I wish I could keep you,” Ungoliant rasped, leaning forward to lick over her cheek. “So sweet and beautiful… So powerful… Your body would be the perfect nest for my spawn…” A sparkling white grin split her face in half, and her hands ran lower, lower, until one of them pulled up her dress and two more pushed between her legs, touching, rubbing her sex. Melian felt heat run through her body, and her eyes widened in horror. This monster could not… She could not possibly…

“They would be so beautiful,” Ungoliant hissed, and her voice became less and less corporal with every word, slowly dissolving like fog. “Reared on Ainu-flesh… They would destroy every living being, they would give everything to darkness, to the void…” Ungoliant’s grin, now more a snarl, blurred before Melian’s eyes. “Too bad. But I’ll be there, Melian. I’ll wait for you. I have time. I have patience. Your girdle will not keep you safe forever. Once your power starts waning, once your vigilance eases… You will be mine.”

Then claws pushed into her most sensitive flesh, and she screamed in pain while her eyes flew shut.

When she opened them again, she was back in the chamber in the center of her girdle, sitting on the chair grown of roots. Her breath was shallow and fast, but when she looked down at her body, she saw that her clothes were still intact, no traces of Ungoliant’s claws visible. She touched her throat – no wound either. Had it… Was it possible that it had been a dream?

But then she looked at her hand, where the wide sleeve of her dress had shifted, and her blood froze in her veins.

White lines ran from her wrist over her lower arm. She shoved back the sleeve of her other hand, and found the same markings.

Shivering like aspen leaves she closed her eyes and willed the marks to recede. But when she opened her eyes, they were still there. Sick to her stomach, she cast a glamor over it, to conceal them at least if she could not rid herself of them.

When she stood up, her knees nearly gave way below her. She labored to steady her breath, then she walked on, out of the chamber, cold, desperate determination budding in her chest.

Her power would not wane. Her vigilance would not ease.

The north of the girdle would never give way to the horrors of Her darkness.


End file.
